Talking
by Cat2000
Summary: Sort of an added scene to Asylum. Sam feels bad about trying to kill his brother, and wants to talk about it, but Dean isn't as willing


**Talking**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything from Supernatural, and I'm not making any money from this fic

**Summary:** Sort of an added scene to _Asylum_. Sam feels bad about trying to kill his brother, and wants to talk about it, but Dean isn't as willing

**Warning(s):** Does brotherly love count? Some mild swearing

* * *

_Thank god that gun wasn't loaded._

That had been the only thought to go through Sam's mind, no matter how much he'd tried to think of other things. All that intelligence, and he couldn't even think of something other than the way he'd come so close to killing his brother. What a laugh.

The drive back to the motel had been a silent one. Dean had rebuffed all of Sam's attempts at explanations and apologies. When he'd spoken at all, it had been to deliver sharp, curt comments.

It wasn't any better now that they were back at the motel. Dean had gone into the bathroom without a word, and started the water running. But Sam could still hear his brother cursing...

_That_ has _to hurt like hell,_ Sam thought, biting his lip slightly. That _had_ been his intention with shooting Dean, though. He'd actually _wanted_ to hurt his brother.

_You hate me that much?_

How could Sam tell his brother that he didn't hate him? That he _couldn't_ hate Dean? Sure, the weird doctor guy had done something to Sam's head to make all of his repressed anger come to the surface, but he'd _never_, not in a million years, try to kill his brother.

_Forgive me, Dean._

Why was it so easy to ask for forgiveness inside his mind, but so hard to form the words out loud?

"Hey, you gonna take a shower?" Dean asked, taking Sam by surprise. He hadn't even realised that his brother had come out of the shower.

"Yeah, I guess," Sam replied, straightening up. He hesitated a moment, then, "Hey, Dean. Look, about what happened at the asylum..."

"Forget it," Dean cut him off. "Might want to go take that shower now, Sam. You look a state."

_It's_ Sammy Sam thought with a sigh. As much as he seemed to dislike the childish nickname, he could stand it from Dean. He knew that his older brother always said it with affection.

_I should have been able to fight it,_ Sam thought, tears pricking at his eyes as he entered the bathroom and got into the shower. _These dreams and things I've been having - surely being a psychic_ must_ mean that I'm better able to resist stuff like that?_

Or maybe it merely made him more susceptible to the touch of spirits, like Dean seemed to think? Sam would have _definitely_ preferred the former.

The younger Winchester brother closed his eyes as the hot water fell onto his face and body. Sam didn't think he'd ever be able to wash away the stench of the 'doctor's' corruption, or the feeling of his own guilt. Maybe he would have to have a lot more showers before he could ever feel clean again.

But it would take a _lot_ longer for Sam's guilt to leave him.

Even over the running of the water, Sam could hear the sounds of Dean gasping and groaning with pain as he treated the wounds caused by the rock salt. Or was it just his imagination? It didn't matter either way.

_You hate me that much?_

_Damn it._ Sam leaned his forehead against the shower wall. He still couldn't believe that he'd come so close to killing Dean. Shooting him with rock salt, and then trying to use the gun his brother had handed him to kill Dean.

_Thank god the gun wasn't loaded._

What was perhaps the worst thing had been the look of betrayed hurt in Dean's eyes before he'd punched Sam out.

Sam suddenly realised how hot the water had become, and, with a muffled curse, quickly reached to turn the water off. The younger Winchester brother then quickly got out of the shower and wrapped one of the towels around him before leaving the bathroom.

Dean hardly glanced up as Sam came back into the room. He was sitting on his bed with a pair of tweezers, attempting to pick out slivers of rock salt.

Sam flinched back at the sight of his brother. "Shit, Dean, why didn't you _tell_ me how bad it was?" he demanded.

"What does it matter?" Dean asked, without looking up. "You hate me, remember?"

Sam flinched again at the obvious pain in his usually stoic brother's voice. In all of the years Dean and Sam had been together, where Dean had protected and cared for his younger brother, Sam couldn't remember him _ever_ showing that he was hurt.

_I did that. I put the pain in his eyes._

"Dean, I don't hate you..." Sam pleaded silently for his brother's understanding, for his forgiveness. "What I said, what Ellicott did to me... You _have_ to understand. Please, Dean." His brother was the only thing Sam had left. He _couldn't_ lose Dean, and especially not because of something _he'd_ done.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, wincing as he took a breath. "Just go to sleep, Sam."

Again, there was the lack of 'Sammy'. _Not_ being called that hurt Sam more than he could say. It felt like Dean no longer wanted him to be his brother.

"Go to sleep," Dean repeated when Sam didn't do anything. "You need it, and so do I." So saying, he laid the tweezers aside, and switched the light off.

Left with no other choice, Sam got into his bed, but it took him a while to be able to fall asleep.

* * *

_"What are you gonna do, Sam? Gun's filled with rock salt. It's not gonna kill me." _

_Almost before the last word is out of his brother's mouth, Sam fires the gun, and Dean flies backwards through the wall, landing heavily on the floor, groaning with pain. _

_"No... But it'll hurt like hell." _

He shot me. My own brother shot me.

_"Sam..." Dean chokes out. "We've gotta burn Ellicott's bones, and all this will be over. And you'll be back to normal." Please_ tell me that it's Ellicott doing this and not my little brother...

_He doesn't know _anything_! It feels so good to finally shut Dean up. Now Sam's the one in charge - and he likes it. _

_"I _am_ normal," Sam insists, holding the gun steady, itching for his brother to fight, to give him an excuse to hurt him even more. "I'm just telling the truth for the first time," he continues. "I mean, why are we even here? Cause you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? Cause you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval!" _

_"This isn't you talking, Sam." _Please, Sam. I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry I couldn't be a good brother to you.

_"That's the difference between you and me," Sam states. "I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic like you." _

_Dean's talking, but he can't hear his own words. He takes the gun out, and hands it to his brother, his brother who he would die for. "Here. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt." _Kill me, so that I don't have to live with knowing that you hate me.

_Sam takes the gun, hesitates, doubt beginning to surface inside his mind. This... It doesn't feel right. _

_"You hate me that much?" Dean asks with pain in his voice. "You think you can kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger. Do it!" _

_Sam pulls the trigger, and Dean's body jerks as the bullet hits his chest, blood splattering everywhere. And now Ellicott's gone, leaving Sam with the horrifying knowledge that he's just killed his own brother. _

DEAN

* * *

Dean came awake with a pained gasp as his brother's scream intruded on his consciousness. For a moment, he just lay there, trying to get his breath, wincing. When he felt like he was was able to speak without screaming in pain, he said: "Sam?"

Dean heard his brother take a sobbing breath, and then Sam asked, "Did I wake you? I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," Dean replied. "Another nightmare?"

"Yeah."

Dean shook his head slightly. "Dude, you have _got_ to stop thinking about Jessica. It wasn't your fault that she died. Hell, the only thing to blame is the demon that killed her and Mom!"

Sam mumbled something which Dean didn't quite catch. "What was that?"

"I didn't dream about Jessica." Then, before Dean could say anything, he continued quietly, "I dreamed that I killed you..." And his voice caught on a sob.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, trying hard to decide what to do. On the one hand, a part of him wanted to hold onto his hurt and anger. He had every right to, after all, but...

Sam needed to be reassured, and Dean could never deny his brother anything.

Dean slowly pushed himself up off his bed, and limped over to Sam's. He sat down on the edge with a slight wince, and then reached out to gently rub his brother's shoulder. "Sammy... It's all right. I'm not dead. I'm right here."

Sam cried even harder at being called 'Sammy'. "I don't hate you, Dean..." he whispered. "I swear it."

The pain was still there, but Dean could mask it for his brother. He could pretend that everything was fine so that Sam didn't have to suffer any longer. "I know, Sam," he said quietly, and held his brother as he cried.

Finally, Dean realised that Sam had slipped into sleep. He carefully dislodged his brother from where he was resting against his shoulder, and helped him to lie back down on his bed. Instead of going back to his own bed, though, Dean sat back down on the edge of Sam's.

He would stay with Sam for as long as his brother needed.


End file.
